Page 82 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

He hesitated, his jaw tightening before he let out a long sigh. “Leah was complicated,” he said. “She was bossy, but she loved when someone took charge. Used to tell me she couldn’t make another decision at the end of a long day, so she liked when I just handled things.”

“She sounds strong,” I offered.

“She was,” he said, nodding. “Too strong sometimes. Pushed herself too hard. Paid the price for it more than once. She loved kids but didn’t have any nieces or nephews to spoil. It was always a point of sadness for her.”

I could picture her in my mind now. A woman I’d never met but someone who seemed both larger than life and heartbreakingly fragile.

“She liked to run,” he added, his voice taking on a softer note. “Loved fitness, staying active. She was a decent cook but a terrible baker. I used to joke that she could burn water.”

His lips quirked up at the memory, but I felt a sudden, unexpected sting behind my eyes. I dabbed at them quickly with my napkin, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I just wish things had been different for her. For you.”

He went quiet for a moment, looking out at the water. “Yeah. Me too.”

We didn’t talk much after that. The weight of everything unsaid hung between us like a thick fog, and for once, I didn’t know how to cut through it. Kannon had always been the one person who made me feel truly understood, but tonight, I realized just how much time and life had changed us both.

And yet, sitting across from him, it still felt like no time had passed at all.

“Did you run with her?” I asked curiously.

He started laughing. “Merritt, maybe I’ve changed, but I haven’t changed that much.” He shook his head. “No, I left that to Leah. I’m not running unless something is chasing me.” His gaze drifted away as he spoke, lost perhaps in memories of Leah.

“I agree,” I said. “Dominique runs. I think she’s nuts.”

“Weren’t you into yoga or something meditative like that? I think your dad mentioned it once. Still finding time for it?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it keeps me balanced,” I replied, rolling my shoulders back slightly as if feeling the stretch through the mere mention of it. “It’s my little piece of peace in a hectic world. And you? Still finding solace in your fishing?”

Kannon nodded, a soft grin on his face. “Yeah, it’s still my escape. Nothing like the quiet of the lake at dawn, just me and the water.”

I smiled, comforted by the familiarity of his hobbies. “It’s good to know some things don’t change.”

He looked at me then, really looked at me, as if seeing me clearly for the first time that evening. “And some things do,” he said softly. “You’ve grown, Merritt. In ways I think even you don’t realize. This life you’ve built, it suits you. It’s impressive.”

I felt a sense of pride, mixed with a twinge of something else—regret, maybe, or just the bittersweet tang of paths not taken.

“Thanks, Kannon,” I said, meeting his gaze. “It means a lot, coming from you.”

“Your dad really was very proud of you,” he said. “I don’t know if he ever told you, but he was. Like really proud. When his mind really started to slip, he mixed the you now with the little girl you were, but I always knew what he was talking about.”

A lump formed in my throat at the mention of my father. I blinked rapidly, fighting back tears that threatened to spill over. “That’s comforting to hear. I miss him more than I can say. I feel bad I wasn’t there but he had long forgotten me. Well, not forgot, but you know what I mean. I’m glad you were there. Thank you for that.”

“He talked about you all the time, Merritt. About your strength, your spirit. Said you were all he could have ever hoped for and more.”

“I just wish I could have done more for him,” I said.

“He was comfortable,” he assured me. “It was a good facility. They were good to him.”

I smiled, but it wasn’t enough to erase all the guilt I felt. I felt like we were spending too much of our time together talking about dead people. “What do you think of the fish?” I asked.

Kannon glanced down at his plate, almost as if he’d forgotten the meal in front of him. “It’s good,” he responded, though his tone suggested his mind was still partly elsewhere. “Really good. I don’t think I’ve had fish this fresh since well, ever.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, taking a bite of my own dish to fill the silence that lingered briefly. “It melts in your mouth, doesn’t it? It’s like it came straight from the ocean to our plates.”

He smiled again, that familiar, warm grin that had always made me feel like everything might just be okay. “This was a good choice. Is this one of your regular hangouts?”